No cure for the summer time blues (summertime blues) 6.4.02

Summer is back with a vengeance and that means at least two things are certain. For one, "It's not the heat it's the humidity" will be heard at least 37 times per day from now until September when we start talking about how it never used to be this hot so late in the year. And two, throngs of kids will be free to roam the streets of Council Bluffs because legally there is nothing we can do about it ... yet.
I like kids theoretically, but in practice it is just another matter entirely. We all like our own kids, it's just other people's kids who leave their bikes in front of stores while they clog the candy aisles trying to figure out how much sugar they can buy for 45 cents.
It seems that no matter how many skateboard parks and playgrounds we build, malls, grocery stores, parking ramps and pharmacies will always be number one with kids.
A close number two is the Bayliss Park fountain where one can toss a coin, make a wish and watch as children fight to steal that coin/wish in front of your eyes. It's a free-for-all out there and on any given day, scantily clad teens can be found scuba diving in our public fountain looking for spare change to buy anything from wacky tobacky to backless shirts to copies of "Catcher in the Rye" for all I know.
I don't know who Genna is, but if her greatest accomplishment was being here in 2001, she really needs to write it someplace else besides on the concrete in Bayliss Park because I think I speak for everyone when I say, "Who cares?"
It's like the end of the days or something, isn't it? There oughtta be a law. Oh wait, there IS a law, it's called don't steal, don't vandalize and keep your feet and the rest of your body out of the fountain. Those kind of things may seem quaint in Europe, but in Council Bluffs, they're just nasty.
Something else you see in Council Bluffs that might be requiring an ordinance soon has to do with the number of dudes who walk around without shirts. Maybe I'm a Puritan, but it seems recent innovations in shirt technology allow men to keep cool without exposing their nipples to the world.
Sure, it's a fun to take a drive on a hot summer day, window down, shirt no where to be seen, but give us a break. How many shirtless guys riding kid's bikes in jeans have to pass one another before one of them says, "Oh, how embarrassing, we wore the same outfit today." Either don't drive drunk or buy bike shorts.
Show a little pride, folks, you've got a closet full of Ozzy Osbourne, Pink Floyd and Ratt T-shirts gathering dust, show 'em off. Concert T-shirts are not only festive and let everyone know who your favorite bands are, they are made from material so thin as to be the next best thing to nudity.
You know what smells like magic? The Frito Lay plant. I dig that. No jasmine or cherry blossoms for me. Give me fried corn.
You know what else is fun on a hot summer night in Council Bluffs? Going to the emergency room with a panic attack. Thank you Al Qaeda!
I was a pretty twitchy freak a year ago, but now... WHEEEW!
Apparently, I'm not alone in this, according to my doctor, three are millions of people who, if they weren't depressed before are stewing in their own juices now.
Since Sept. 11, the number of Americans afflicted with anxiety, depression and more has sky-rocketed, but I figured I could handle it.
Who was I kidding? I could barely handle high school let alone the rainbow of emotions that comes with trying to live in, figure out and deal with America post 9-11.
One good thing is I learned a new definition of hell: Going to the ER feeling like you are going to die and being told to sit down, relax and fill out forms then sitting in a little room to wait for a nurse, then a doctor, then the nurse with a shot, then the doctor to see if the shot worked while everyone looks at you like a tweaker and you're wondering how you're gonna pay for this.
Three hours, a couple hundred dollars and one shot later and I still don't know if I am good to go. So in the name of putting my business out there for you to mull over, I over you this bit of advice. Don't swallow it. The anxiety, the pain, the grief. Don't assume you can take any amount, shove it down hard with your foot and keep on trucking because even if you never end up in the ER with a little wussy panic attack like me, you could just as easily end up there with a heart attack, stroke or something else you might be less ashamed of but even more damaged by.
And I want to say I'm sure everybody did their best under the circumstances though I am not 100 percent clear on the details. Such is the nature of bad brain juju.
My favorite part of summertime in Council Bluffs so far this year? How about 3 a.m. on a Monday morning when you're driving across town to the all-night pharmacy to pick up a prescription for alprazolam about an hour after the lorazepam has kicked in feeling like an extra on "ER."
All the drunks are in bed or at least taking the side streets. A calm falls over the city that won't be broken for another three hours. Slowly you realize that for better or for worse, this is your town. You can really be yourself here.
Thanks for being there, Mr. Bowen.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.